


make it mean something better

by Songspinner



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Established Relationship, First Aid, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27826444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Songspinner/pseuds/Songspinner
Summary: Claude stays out of the infirmary whenever he can, even when he could really use the help. Even when Teach insists. Even that time he had to beg off class for three days straight because he was feverish and couldn’t keep food down.Andespeciallynow, lightheaded and dizzy from blood loss with an arrowhead half-buried in his side. Even here in his own room, it’s hard to feel entirely safe. He’s usually so careful not to get seriously injured in battle--the last thing he needs is the necessity of putting his life in the hands of someone who may secretly despise him. Or someone who could be bribed into jumping on an opportunity, or...any of the dozen other worst-case scenarios he meticulously plans for. He’s always stuck to archery here, even though his skills with an axe are nothing to sneeze at either; he never wants Teach to put him on the front lines. Maybe it’s selfish...or cowardly, as his siblings would say...for the house leader to hide at the back of the formation and let those whose lives he’s responsible for take all the hits. But if it keeps him alive, it’s worth it. Anything is worth it, for that.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 5
Kudos: 100





	make it mean something better

**Author's Note:**

> This work was written for [Aimet](https://twitter.com/whorerormovie) for the [Dimiclaude Gift Exchange 2020](https://twitter.com/dimiclaudegifts) on Twitter! I hope they enjoy it. :)
> 
> (title from Conjure One's "One Word")

Claude stays out of the infirmary whenever he can, even when he could really use the help. Even when Teach insists. Even that time he had to beg off class for three days straight because he was feverish and couldn’t keep food down.

And  _ especially _ now, lightheaded and dizzy from blood loss with an arrowhead half-buried in his side. Even here in his own room, it’s hard to feel entirely safe. He’s usually so careful not to get seriously injured in battle--the last thing he needs is the necessity of putting his life in the hands of someone who may secretly despise him. Or someone who could be bribed into jumping on an opportunity, or...any of the dozen other worst-case scenarios he meticulously plans for. He’s always stuck to archery here, even though his skills with an axe are nothing to sneeze at either; he never wants Teach to put him on the front lines. Maybe it’s selfish...or cowardly, as his siblings would say...for the house leader to hide at the back of the formation and let those whose lives he’s responsible for take all the hits. But if it keeps him alive, it’s worth it. Anything is worth it, for that.

A loud knock on the door jars him from his thoughts. It’s probably Teach coming to check up on him, and he nearly panics, clenching his jaw shut to keep from making any noise. If he pretends to be asleep, they should leave him alone. He can buy himself the rest of the night, at least.

But the knock sounds again a few seconds later, and it’s not Byleth’s voice that comes through the heavy wooden door, tinged with concern. “Claude? I know you’re in there, may I come in?”

How does  _ Dimitri _ know already?...Hilda. Curse her cunning when it comes to getting other people to do her dirty work. Claude’s breath comes shallow, part pain and part mounting anxiety. There would be nothing he could do to stop the prince from taking him to the infirmary even if he  _ weren’t _ in such bad shape. And he wouldn’t put it past Dimitri to do it, either, if he’s worried enough. But he can’t just stay silent--that would be a great way to get Dimitri to break down the door in a fit of distress.

“Hey, Your Princeliness,” he calls through the door, trying his best to keep his voice even. “No need to worry about me, I’m just tired.” He yawns loudly and exaggeratedly. “Sooo tired. I think I’ll turn in early tonight, see you tomorrow?”

He almost flinches at the stern tone that responds. “Claude. If you truly need sleep, I will leave you be, but I suspect that you have been hiding something important from your classmates.” The voice softens, then. “Must you hide it from me, as well?”

Claude isn’t used to feelings like this: guilt, shame. Even now, they’re mild--he could get over them. He could go back to the way things were, when everyone here was nothing but a means to an end, and he owed nothing to anyone. But that would mean giving up the one person in his life who has never judged him for anything, who has believed that even the most inscrutable of his schemes was ultimately for the greater good. No one has ever been so giving and so painfully honest that they made Claude feel...inadequate, for his unwillingness to offer the same.

No one until Dimitri.

“...all right, you got me,” he admits to the closed door. “You can come in, but, uh…” He clears his throat, sheepish. “You’ll have to break the lock open, I’m afraid.”

He can practically  _ hear _ the way Dimitri’s brow furrows. “What? Claude, I--” A sharp exhalation. “I’m coming in.”

Sure enough, all it takes is the slightest flick of the prince’s wrist to break the knob apart and push the door open. It makes Claude uneasy to realize that what passes through him when he sees Dimitri there is  _ relief _ rather than apprehension, but soon he’s grinning as the other boy looks down at the broken knob in his hand with remorse. “I--...I will have it fixed,” Dimitri mumbles, as though it weren’t Claude who told him to break it to begin with.

“If it’ll make you feel better, be my guest,” Claude says. “In the meantime--”

But Dimitri’s already closing the door and sliding the heavy dresser in front of it with absurd, one-handed ease. Another surge of vague discomfort climbs into Claude’s throat; although he knew next to nothing about the situation, Dimitri knew  _ him _ well enough to know that just pushing the door shut and trusting it to stay that way wouldn’t be enough. “...thanks.”

“Of course.” Dimitri steps over several scattered piles of books and clutter to sit on the edge of the bed, frowning. The mattress shifts, and Claude can’t help a visible wince as the movement jostles his wound under the covers. Dimitri’s frown deepens, eyes widening in alarm. “Are you all right? What is going on?”

“You worry too much! I’m fine. It’s just a minor injury, I--”

Dimitri takes a handful of the blankets and pulls, folding them down to expose the bloody tear in Claude’s uniform jacket and the red stain slowly spreading on the sheets underneath him.  _ “Claude!” _

“Shhh, sheesh, Mitya, I’m trying to  _ hide _ here…”

Suddenly it’s the Prince of Faerghus fixing him with a commanding, blue-eyed stare. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t take you to the infirmary right now.”

Claude immediately ruins his own attempt to be circumspect about it as his hand betrays him, whipping out to grab Dimitri’s wrist of its own accord. “Don’t,” he says, and it’s a Mirza of Almyra commanding in turn; but it’s also Khalid the outsider, pleading with someone he desperately needs to be able to trust.

Dimitri blinks, but the ice of his vehemence melts quickly. “I...don’t understand,” he says softly.

“I know.” Claude lets go before his hand can start trembling, turning his eyes to the wall.

“Claude... _ please _ .” A reverent whisper, a desperate entreaty. “You’ll bleed out, I...”

Claude’s gaze returns inexorably to the prince, searching for something he knows he won’t find. “...heh. Not gonna insist on an answer?”

“It would be a waste of words while you’re hurt, given your infernal stubbornness.” Dimitri blatantly casts about for something to convince him with, comes up empty. “Tell me what to do,” is what he offers instead, raw and quiet.

Remorse gnaws at Claude’s insides as surely as the pain. Dimitri never holds anything over his head. He doesn’t pry or bargain, doesn’t seem to  _ want _ anything from him other than…Claude himself. His friendship, his care and attention, his affection. It’s terrifying. The prince doesn’t even ask for his  _ trust _ , and it’s sad if he thinks about it too much. Dimitri is willing to give without receiving, and Claude knows too well that if he keeps on like that, the world will bleed him dry.

_ Claude _ will bleed him dry.

He wants to run from this selfless, soft-hearted man ready to offer all of himself up on the altar of everyone’s good but his own. Claude can’t understand it and he’s not sure he wants to; if he did, he might not have the heart to do what he must. But if he ran…

If he ran, he would break Dimitri’s heart, and his own with it. Claude’s not a selfish person deep down--no, that’s not quite right.  _ Khalid _ is not a selfish person.  _ Claude _ , by design, tries to be one. But Dimitri, curse him or bless him, makes him want to be Khalid first.

Claude closes his eyes. “Please, Mitya. Don’t take me to the infirmary. I...I was going to patch myself up, but my hands aren’t steady enough. Guess I lost too much blood on the way back...heh.” He opens his eyes again and the spear of horror in Dimitri’s gaze pierces him straight through.

“Then...I can fetch Mercedes, or Marianne--”

“ _ No. _ ” Claude reaches over to take Dimitri’s hand, or cling to it, perhaps. He can’t handle the way the prince wants only to help, thinking nothing of the cost or consequences. Claude can’t bear to be this selfish anymore. “...I’m sorry.” He looks down at the hand in his own, tracing its lines with his fingers. “You deserve an explanation.”

“Claude--”   


“Let me do this.”

Dimitri clutches his hand tightly. “You can do it  _ after _ you stop bleeding.”

Claude can’t help but chuckle, though he groans faintly at the way it hurts. “Then…” He takes a slow and careful breath, lets it out. “Then I need you to stitch this up.”

Dimitri recoils. “I cannot, I--no, I will only make it worse. You  _ know _ that. I can’t--”

“You  _ can _ , Mitya. I…” A heady recklessness surges through him suddenly, a desperate need for freedom from the shackles of his own fear. Maybe it’s the blood loss talking, but he’s always alone, even when he’s with Dimitri, even in their most intimate moments. No matter how warm their kisses, no matter how tightly they hold each other when they can’t sleep, it’s never enough to fill the last of the gaps in his heart, and he’s sick of it. Loneliness can go haunt someone else for a change. He wants to feel  _ safe _ . “I trust you. I’ll talk you through it. Okay?”

He can see the way Dimitri freezes up, the indecision that plagues him for a silence brief as a breath. He can see the determination, the  _ devotion _ , when Dimitri nods. “Yes.”

Something that’s been coiled tightly inside Claude’s chest for years loosens slowly as he murmurs quiet instructions in the dim candlelight and lets someone else take care of him. For once. For once. Not  _ just  _ this once, though, he swears to himself, because he can see the way Dimitri comes alive with conviction and building confidence, glowing with the knowledge that he can do something for Claude, that Claude needs him. Needs  _ him _ , not the prince or the heir or the house leader, but just Dimitri.

It takes longer than it should; Dimitri was not just being modest when he insisted he wasn’t the best choice for this task. He’s too hesitant when he removes the arrowhead; Claude ends up badgering him into yanking it out all at once instead of easing it out an inch at a time, and Dimitri cringes at the muffled sound of Claude yelling into the leather glove between his teeth. The prince is too cautious when he disinfects the wound with an herbal mixture of Claude’s own making that he keeps for emergencies, seeing the way it burns when Claude hisses in pain. His hands shake with the force of his concentration when he threads the needle and starts his stitching (“I have been practicing with Mercedes not to break the needles…” sheepish, apprehensive, and frankly adorable). He’s too gentle when he rebandages the injury, and Claude has to urge him to make it tighter, tighter, to keep his blood inside him where it belongs.

But together they get the job done, and when Dimitri sighs with relief and gets up to wash the blood from his hands in the water basin, Claude decides that he never wants to see Dimitri’s tender side crushed by the world’s cruelty.

“How do you feel?” Dimitri asks when he sits back down.

“Like I’m in big trouble when Teach finds out I have to skip training tomorrow…”

The prince chuckles. “If you are well enough to complain, consider my mind eased.” He lifts a hand to brush away a few stray curls before he cups Claude’s cheek in his palm. “But promise me that next time, you will not keep these things from me. I...cannot, in good conscience, urge you to share them with the Professor or go to the infirmary, knowing that you chose to deal with this on your own rather than do so, but…”

“Mitya, I…” Claude sighs, gaze caught in the eyes above him, so full of feeling that he could drown. “I promise.”  _ Dangerous to make promises you can’t keep _ , says a little voice at the back of his mind that sounds suspiciously like his mother, but he ignores it. “And I should tell you--”

“No, Claude.” Dimitri shakes his head and carefully clambers over Claude to lie beside him on his uninjured side. “You don’t need to tell me anything until you  _ want _ to.”

“I want to,” Claude whispers, and he’s a little surprised to find that it’s completely honest. “I do.”

The grateful little smile that blooms on the prince’s face is enough to warm Claude all over. “Later, then,” says Dimitri, brushing a knuckle along his jaw and kissing him lighty. “You should rest for now.”

Claude thinks back to the last time he was wounded like this, sequestered in his room with his dagger under his pillow, sleepless and terrified that the one who stabbed him would send others to finish the job. The memory doesn’t twist his guts like it usually does; Dimitri’s warmth beside him chases the past back where it belongs. Here, now, he can find solace in his prince’s arms, even if it can’t possibly last forever.  _ I’m safe. _

He lets his eyelids drift closed and grins. “Yes, Your Princeliness.”


End file.
